Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“My father taught us when we were kids.” There’s a part of me saying it’s not too late to back out, but I ignore it. “Mike and I didn’t have a normal childhood. Not that there is such a thing, but from people I’ve talked to, it sounds like Mike and I had an even less normal childhood than most. Do you know what a survivalist is?”
“Like people who live in the woods?”
“Yeah, but think of that on steroids. There was a show on National Geographic called Doomsday Preppers. You ever seen that?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s about people who have bizarre ideas about how the world will end—and some maybe not so bizarre. Like, there’s someone who thought there would be a water crisis. Or the destruction of our industrial food chain. You name it, someone’s got some idea of what it might be and what they needed to do to survive.”
“I take it your dad had some idea like that?” Leif’s cautious with his wording; I can tell he doesn’t want to sound dismissive or judgmental, which I appreciate.
“Yes, but he wasn’t always like that—though we always knew something was a bit off. When Mom was alive, he still had his strange days. He’d have days where he’d disappear, which was hard on Mom. She’d act like he had to go somewhere for work. At the time, I bought it, but she always acted weird when he’d come back home. They got into fights at night, so loud we could hear them from our room. After she passed away, Dad got really into conspiracy theories—books, websites, podcasts. Anything he could get his hands on. As an adult, I can look back and see that surprise! It’s genetic, right?”
That was my attempt at a fucked-up joke, but it’s clearly not amusing to Leif, who just lies there, listening.
“Anyway, Dad sold our house. Took us to a cabin in the woods, taught us how to shoot and survive off the land. He didn’t explain the conspiracies. He would talk about them to friends who came by, but I guess he felt we were too young for it. He made out like this was all some great father/son bonding time, a lengthy camping trip. Then one day he took me out for a hunt and told me that all the countries were going to go to war, and I’d needed to know how to survive, and that I had to take care of my brother. He made me promise I’d make sure Mike stayed safe if anything happened to him, and I promised.
“I mean, I was fucking terrified. Even then, I don’t know that I believed him, but I knew he believed, which had me in a fucked-up headspace for an eleven-year-old. And we stayed in that cabin for, like, a year. And then one day Dad went off into the woods with his shotgun and didn’t come back. Mike and I waited…and waited. I was scared Dad was right and what he’d told me was really happening. This end he’d warned me about. After two days, we were running out of food, so I went looking for him, and I found him in the woods.”
Suddenly, I’m numb as the scene details flash through my mind.
Dad’s camo khakis, shoes, and flannel.
The flies. God, there were so many flies.
I push ahead in the story, hoping if I move past that point, these haunting images will fade. “Dad had a few friends he trusted and had left numbers for in case of an emergency. So we contacted one, and she came over with the cops.”
I study Leif’s expression, trying to make out what he’s thinking, and I feel his fingers against my cheek.
“Zane, I’m so sorry.”
I lean into his hand, enjoying his comforting touch.
It’s not only that; carrying that kind of thing…there’s a loneliness to it. And it’s like now that he sees it, I’m less alone.
“It was a nightmare. Child services told us they’d try to keep Mike and me together, but that didn’t happen, and we were put with different families in the foster care system.”
I reflect on the days and nights of crying, still grieving the loss of my mom, my dad…and then my brother.
“I hate myself for believing them when they said we’d end up together,” I say as fire burns in my chest. “And I fought and tried to get them not to take him away, but I was too small to put up much of a fight. And I remember feeling like I’d let Dad and Mike down.”
A warm tear slides down my temple. “Fuck,” I say, and as I’m about to move my hand off Leif to get it, he beats me to it, wiping it away with his thumb.
I watch him, wondering how a person could possibly respond to all that, or if he just wants to pry away from the guy with more issues than he could possibly know what to do with, but he hooks his arm around me and pulls me close for a hug.